


new candles

by pipsqueakparker (lafbaeyette)



Series: fictober 2020 [20]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Candles, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Fictober, Fluff, Flufftober, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:35:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27130024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/pipsqueakparker
Summary: Baz still won’t see anyone, though I still think it would help him a lot, but he’s started developing his own coping mechanisms.He won’t go to a human therapist but he has fully turned to retail therapy.It didn’t strike me as odd until he started focusing on one specific thing.Baz has always loved his clothes.But when he graduated uni and started grad school he started buying more and more candles.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: fictober 2020 [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949911
Comments: 10
Kudos: 101





	new candles

**Author's Note:**

> day 20: new candles
> 
> baz is a slut for candles, that is all. 
> 
> tried to also add some softness in, i hope it worked. 
> 
> (also the candle simon buys is my favorite candle from yankee candle and if anyone's lookin' to gimme a christmas present, that is it)

**SIMON**

Coping mechanisms are something we’ve been talking about a lot in therapy. Healthy ones and unhealthy ones.

Apparently I had a lot of unhealthy ones for a long time. I didn’t even realize until my therapist pointed them out to me, but we’re trying to replace them with healthier ones.

The past two years have been full of meditations and breathing techniques and practicing communication. A whole mess of things that my therapist said I should be getting more comfortable with rather than lashing out or shutting down.

It’s fair, she was right.

Baz still won’t see anyone, though I still think it would help him a lot, but he’s started developing his own coping mechanisms.

He won’t go to a human therapist but he has fully turned to _retail_ therapy.

Baz is posh and he’s always had money, the shopping sprees shouldn’t be surprising. In fact, they weren’t, at first. I knew we had different views on money, and I knew he was more comfortable going out and buying expensive jeans and shirts he’d _maybe_ wear twice.

He even bought _me_ expensive clothes I didn’t need. (He argued that I _did_ need them because a lot of my clothes are old or stained or torn.) (I don’t think I have much need for anything nicer, though.)

It didn’t strike me as odd until he started focusing on _one_ specific thing.

Baz has always loved his clothes.

But when he graduated uni and started grad school he started buying more and more _candles_.

He’s in the middle of his second year and we literally have a closet that’s just home to all of his candles.

Today we’re going to a candle store. Just a store full of candles. (And other air freshening accessories, I suppose.)

I fear for his credit card. And I wonder where we’ll start storing the candles when he eventually fills that closet.

Mostly, I’m worried about him because I recognize now that this is a _stress response_. Candles _soothe_ him.

His finals are right around the corner, I’m honestly surprised he took the day off from revising.

I’m watching him as we step into the store and I’m pretty sure I can _see_ him relax as we cross the threshold. I want to tease him for the absurd amount of candles he already owns but he’s been so tense and easily worked up.

I reach out for his hand instead, lacing our fingers together and letting my palm warm his cool skin. I still get nervous doing this, touching him or being with him in public, but I know it means so much to him when I do. So I try when I can.

I keep my focus on him, actively working to ignore the other shoppers and whether or not they’re judging us. _They don’t matter_. We _matter._

“What scents are you after today?” I ask, squeezing his hand. He always walks into a store with a scent in mind. Usually it’s something warm and homey, like cinnamon or apple or nutmeg. Maybe something sweeter but still grounded in something rich and woodsy. (He says the latter scents remind him of me.) He typically strays away from the summery, beachy ones.

“Something… spicey, with sweet undertones.” This must not be his first time here, he’s already leading us toward a specific section that’s labeled _‘Autumn Favorites’_. It’s my first time, though, so I’m quickly distracted by all of the _options_ they have. The smell is almost overwhelming as well, at first. All those candles in such an enclosed space.

“Spicy? Like peppers?” I ask absently, craning my neck when I see an area labeled _‘Christmas Treats’_. That sounds interesting.

“Different spicy, love.” He lets go of my hand to reach for a jar candle off the shelf, removing the lid and holding it right up to his nose. He inhales, shutting his eyes and holding his breath for a few seconds, before breathing out slowly. “Something with cloves or sage.”

He opens his eyes again, letting his gaze slip over to me, and tilts the candle toward me. I lean in and sniff it. It’s not as much of a production as it is when he does it. It just smells waxy at first, but when I think about it I can smell the vanilla and sugar. The label says it’s called _Christmas Cookies_.

Baz wanders down a few more shelves before picking up another candle, this one a deep blue. He goes through the theatrical sniff once more, humming as he breathes out, his lips curving into the ghost of a smile.

“That one good?” I grab his wrist, twisting the candle around so I can see the label. “Midsummer’s Night? Sounds well posh.”

Baz snorts while I lean close to take a sniff of this one, too. The scents are more recognizable this time. Only because they’re so familiar.

“This one smells like you,” I tell him. “Cedar and bergamot.”

“I do like the citrus and wood combination,” he admits, putting the top back on the candle. “Not quite what I’m looking for today, though.”

We must go through half the store, stopping at every other shelf to smell one or two different candles.

I notice that Baz’s rhythm and routine with each candle kind of matches the breathing exercises I’ve been practicing, and that’s when it really soaks in that this _is_ his coping. I don’t know if it’s healthy or not, we’re still working on better communication, at least, so I don’t think he’s using it to _hide_ anything from me necessarily. He doesn’t hide his stress that well, anyway. I know he’s having a hard time and I wish I knew how to help him better.

I hope this, today, helps.

Baz finally settles on the candle he wants today. It’s called _Cedar Stack_ and he legitimately smiles when he smells it.

“What’s that one?” I ask.

“What I was looking for,” he answers. That’s all I get from him, at first.

We pass by the shelves we had first seen when we head out to pay and I stop, hesitate for just a moment, then scoop up a small candle jar of the _Midsummer’s Night_ candle.

“You want that one?” He asks when he notices I’ve stopped to grab something. I nod, and I think I see Baz smile again when he notices which candle I’ve picked out.

It’s not until we’re back at the car that he says anything. “Is there something special about that candle, Snow?”

I look down at my bag, with my single small candle in it. And then I shrug, happy to admit to him that I just thought it smelled like him which was nice. That’s when he steps in closer, sliding his hands around my hips and pressing me against the side of his car.

He kisses me like he hasn’t in a few weeks, hot and heavy and _meaningful_. I want to snog him right here in the candle store’s car park, but after a moment he steps away and opens my door for me.

I manage to earn another answer from him on the drive home. He’s driving with one hand on the wheel, the other in my lap as I play with his fingers and trace short love letters into his palm with the tip of my finger.

“Mine smells like you,” he whispers, barely loud enough to be heard over the music we’ve been playing. “A lot of them do, actually. In different ways. Sometimes I find ones that smell the same as your magic, when you were too full of it. I’ve not found a perfect match yet, but a few are close. Mostly I like the ones that smell like you now.”

I lift his hand up to my mouth, pressing a kiss into the center of his palm and then continuing to leave one over each knuckle. It makes him smile for the third time today, in just over an hour!

That’s got to be a record.

After dinner, I find him on the sofa, books and papers spread out haphazardly around him. (This is the only time Baz Pitch looks disorganized.) (And really, he’s very organized, it just looks a mess to me.)

The candle he bought today is on the coffee table, all three wicks burning.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr (@pipsqueakparker), make sure you have a plan to vote if you're american, and kiss your dad square on the lips


End file.
